So he did the craziest thing anyone in my risk-averse family could imagine: He scraped together enough money to buy two D4 Caterpillars and started Bear Excavating and Construction.

Those two tractors look so tiny now compared to the heavy iron that eventually would sit in our construction yard. But I remember the feeling of pride the day it all started.

Dad sweated every bid and every job. He had no mentors, no guides, just hard determination born of desperation. How do you hire? How do you fire? How do you survive when margins are thin, the insurance man is always at your door and everyone assumes you must be raking it in because you're the boss? How do you build something strong enough to pass on to your kids?

The company did grow, though, and started to thrive. My brother went to work for Bear and, my dad thought, his dream was coming true. He was bidding million-dollar projects, keeping debt low and cash on hand high.

But then the Great Recession hit and the construction industry tanked. Thanks to my mother's hard-earned frugality, the company survived year one, year two, year three with almost no work.

Those hard times took a toll on my parents' marriage, and when it failed, the business went with it. In 2012, my brother and I sold off Bear at the equipment auction. I watched every piece of my family's legacy roll across the auction floor. Every piece of yellow iron looking, from the nosebleed seats, like those tiny tractors my dad once rescued from the dump.

I'm still the daughter of an excavator. I couldn't be more proud of my father, mother and brother and their legacy. Being their daughter and sister shaped who I am and how I interact with the world. It's a unique and privileged club that all of us family-business kids belong to, despite our knowing jokes about long hours and no vacations.

I salute family businesses. Whether you're struggling in the first generation or planning for the fifth, you are shaping our community and helping our economy to thrive.